


That's about the size of it

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Body Part Kinks, Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Plot What Plot, good things come in small packages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Seriously?" Arthur says, looking down at Eames' cock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's about the size of it

Not that Arthur had any expectations going into this, or at least not _unreasonable_ ones. But after all the build up, the sheer amount of foreplay leading up to this moment, where he finally, _finally_ , gets Eames' fucking pants off - it just figures.

"Seriously?" Arthur says, looking down at Eames' cock. What there is of it to look at. Which fine, Arthur is willing to allow, might be a little unfair. As cocks go, it's... decent sized. Average. A few inches shorter than Arthur's own, but nothing to laugh at.

Except that he can't help laughing a little. Eames doesn't seem offended, if anything the arousal in his eyes sharpens. He licks his lips and that image alone goes a long way towards mitigating any disappointment Arthur might have been feeling.

"More than enough to get you off with," Eames says smirking, lying back on the bed, his body a restless coil of muscle underneath Arthur, and the tone of his voice the same lazy self- assurance as always. Setting a challenge.

Now generally speaking Arthur lives by the rule that it's a bad idea to antagonize the person who's about to fuck you. That doesn't mean he can stop himself from letting out a little disbelieving snort even as he crawls forward to straddle Eames' lap, his hands roving over tanned skin and black whirls of ink.

Eames' hips shift upwards, a wordless urging that Arthur follows as he takes his cock in hand. It's not a bad looking cock, Arthur has to admit. Uncut, flushed a pretty rosy color, wide enough that Arthur would feel the stretch in his jaw if he took it in his mouth. Arthur swallows convulsively at the thought as a bead of fluid gathers at the tip, before spilling down over Eames' foreskin. Arthur rubs his thumb through it, smearing it up around the head. He'd had sex 2 weeks ago, let Kristoff, the architect on his last team, bend him over a desk, and that had been good. But he still wants Eames more than he can remember wanting anybody for a long time. He wants this cock, Eames' cock inside of him, taking him, pounding into him until he comes. Arthur wants to get fucked until he screams.

Eames grabs his chin in one large hand, forcing Arthur's attention up and murmurs his name, a dark rumble in his throat, his eyelids falling to half-mast as he thrusts into Arthur's hand.

"Think you can take it?" he asks, nodding down to where his dick moves within Arthur's grasp, obviously expecting Arthur's usual condescension.

But Arthur doesn't bother, his gaze already drifting back down, drawn by the way Eames' cock twitches in his hand as Arthur slowly tugs at the skin of his balls. He's too turned on for sarcasm and banter now, the prospect of imminent sex with Eames is more than sufficiently distracting to his skills in wordplay.

He's intensely focused on Eames' cock in his hand, memorizing every little reaction Eames makes in response to shifts in pressure and speed. He hears Eames uncap the bottle of lube but it doesn't even register until two slick fingers slide over his hole, circling the ring of muscle before insistently pressing past it.

Arthur tenses automatically, Eames' other hand rubbing a soothing arc over the small of his back until he relaxes, taking Eames' fingers inside of him up to the first knuckles.

Arthur takes shallow breaths, his head tilted back and his eyes closed as Eames fucks him like that, his fingers thick and clever, slowly moving in and out and apart, stretching him. Arthur's dick is rock hard, twitching against his stomach with every crook of Eames' fingers, even as he distantly thinks that this isn't enough. Eames reads the expression on his face easily enough, and moves to give Arthur what he needs. He rips open the packaging on a condom, and rolls it down over his erection.

Arthur, rising up on his knees, lets Eames guide him back down, still holding him open with two fingers until the slick head of his cock nudges against them, moving his fingers away as his cock firmly presses inside. He lets Arthur take a moment to seat himself, until Eames' dick is fully encased in the tight heat of his body. And then Eames stills.

"I should make you ask for it," he says, stretching up to catch the vulnerable skin at the base of Arthur's throat between his teeth.

Arthur trembles, just a little, unable to help it, before he says unsteadily, "If you're that insecure..." He trails off. Bluffing is probably not his smartest move because at this moment he would, if Eames demanded it, tell him how much he wanted it, how much he liked it, how good it feels. But Eames apparently doesn't need Arthur to tell him what he already knows. He gives Arthur a wicked grin, lips licked wet and open before he rolls, flattening Arthur on his back against the ugly floral hotel bedspread, his fingers dug tightly into the meat of Arthur's thighs. Arthur hooks his ankles together at the small of Eames' back and goes with it, arching into it as Eames begins to thrust.

Eames nails his prostate on the first try. As well as every try after that. And Arthur goes to pieces around him, hands fisted in the quilt, sucking in deep, ragged breaths between the helpless, desperate moaning of Eames' name. It shouldn't be this good. Eames is heavy on top of him, the heat of Santiago in the summer is unbearable, the cheap material of the bedspread is chafing his skin as he rubs against it, and Eames' fucking cock is too fucking small--

Arthur comes all over his stomach and chest with a choked gasp.

"Fuck, fuck," he pants out, unknotting one shaky hand from its death grip on the bedspread to push back the sweaty curls of his hair from off of his forehead.

Eames hips slow, rolling into Arthur's, a lazy, rocking motion.

"How long will it take you to get hard again?" Eames asks as he shifts and sits back on his heels, his fingers holding onto the base of the condom as he pulls out. Arthur bites down hard on his bottom lip to keep from whining at the loss.

Arthur shakes his head, trying to clear it enough to answer.

"Don't know. Half an hour, 20 minutes." Arthur says, his voice a croak, his body drained and limp.

Eames seems pleased by this response and the way Arthur doesn't resist as Eames rolls him onto his stomach, tilting his hips into position; Arthur's shoulders down, ass up.

"Ah, please!" Arthur moans, bracing against the blunt force of Eames' cock as Eames shoves back in.

"Alright?" Eames asks, still fucking into him, breath hot against Arthur's back as he trails moist kisses along the top of Arthur's spine.

"It hurts." Arthur takes a deep breath, shuddering with each pass against his over-sensitized prostate, wide eyes beginning to water before he resolutely clenches them shut.

"I can stop if it's too much," Eames says, just solicitous enough to be patronizing.

And it is too much, but Arthur will damned well never say so. "No! Please, please."

Arthur isn't sure that begging Eames to keep fucking him counts as a victory, but he's almost too far gone to care.

Arthur quickly loses all sense of time as Eames fucks him. He has no idea if it takes 20 minutes or hours before he manages to gets it up again, but his dick is hard now, precome leaking down the shaft. His face feels flushed hot and both of their bodies are slick with sweat. Eames slams into him again and again, and Arthur's buried under pleasure, getting off on how fucking amazing Eames’ cock feels inside of him, letting it take him deeper with every forward stroke. He should have remembered when they started that the backbone of Eames' easy self-confidence is that he really is that good, that he always delivers.

Arthur gets a hand around his cock and tugs at it, a looser and more gentle touch than he usually likes, but under the circumstance it's all that he can stand without screaming. Eames is battering at Arthur's prostate, the pleasure of it knife's edge sharp, painfully intense and fuck, Arthur's ready to come again. Once more thrust of Eames' cock and Arthur does scream, a pitiful, broken noise; he's gone and he's barely even touched himself, gripping tight at his dick as he comes, a thin spurt of semen spilling over his fingers, his ass clamping down weakly around Eames' cock.

Arthur is boneless and pliant as Eames finishes himself off, a frenzied little burst of greedy, hard thrusts, before he groans out his orgasm and collapses on top of him.

Arthur whimpers softly as Eames pulls out, but he's too well-fucked to let it bruise his pride when Eames laughs at him. That's also the reason why he lets Eames kiss the back of his neck, his shoulders, telling him softly how sweet he is, how good, without complaint.

Eventually Eames levers himself up and off of Arthur's back and tucks in next to him as he strips the condom, tying it off and tossing it away. Arthur turns into his side, pressing his face into Eames' chest, reaching down to run his hand over the inside of Eames' thighs.

Arthur could be sarcastic now that they've fucked, crack a joke about Eames over-compensating, but he finds himself reluctant to ruin this moment even for the sake of his lost dignity. Thoughtfully he runs a finger across Eames' softening length, enjoying the feel of it, and can't help but wonder--

"How long will it take you to get hard again?" Arthur asks, wrapping a hand around Eames' cock, delighting in Eames' easy laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry about this, Tom Hardy! I still think your dick is lovely.


End file.
